Disclaimer: Margaret Mitchell owns "Gone With the Wind" and all its characters. I own a handful of OC's and a story idea. Book-verse. Not "Scarlett" compliant.

Sorry it took so long to update. We had another death in the family.

India Wilkes woke up one morning in the summer heat, dressed with her usual swift efficiency (for no day, no matter how hot, could slow India Wilkes), and descended the stairs. She briefly consulted with Cookie about the menu for breakfast, and when she had satisfied herself that the meal would be served to her exact specifications, headed back up the stairs to wake Aunt Pittypat and help her dress.

But this morning, something went wrong.

India marched in after a perfunctory knock, as always. Opened the door with a brisk, "Good morning, Aunt Pitty. Time to rise and shine!" As always. Marched to the windows and flung open the draperies, as always.

But when she put her hand on Aunt Pitty's shoulder and looked into her face, she saw the eyes were wide and staring. She was breathing, to be sure, but it was labored, struggling. Her hands under the covers seemed to be twitching.

"Pitty!"

She heard India--those wide-open eyes began to dart side to side. Pittypat was responsive, but barely.

With a gasp of relief that the old lady was alive, at least, India hoisted her up with an arm behind her shoulders, put an extra pillow behind her back to keep her lifted and help her breathe more easily, unbuttoned the top buttons of her nightdress, and ran downstairs to fetch Dr. Meade.

oOoOoOo

By luck or by Providence, Scarlett was the one who answered the telephone when the call came.

"Scarlett, is it you? This is Ashley."

Scarlett was dumbfounded. Ashley had never, ever called her. It had been many years since he even called on her, and then it was only to drop Beau off to play. But he sounded so weary she was immediately frightened.

"Yes, it's me. What's wrong?"

A deep breath. "Aunt Pitty suffered apoplexy last night. India found her this morning."

"Great balls of fire, Ashley! You have to get the doctor!"

"India managed to think of that," Ashley said with a hint of sarcasm. "He's in with her now. But if you could come by the house some time today..."

"Of course, Ashley. I'll be right over."

Scarlett told Wade and Ella and the servants the news--and up went a chorus of dismay. Ella's and Prissy's eyes filled with tears. Pork shook his head sadly. Dilcey--who was still in the middle of getting dressed and had not yet even fixed her hair to go to work at the Wilkes'--closed her eyes and moved her lips silently. Scarlett knew she was praying. Poor Dilcey had known Aunt Pitty longer than any of them.

"I'll drive you, Mother," Wade offered. "You and Ella. And Dilcey." He added with a nod to the Negro woman.

"No," Scarlett objected. "We'll drive separately. You still have to go to work today and I don't know how long they'll need me."

India met them at the door just as Dr. Meade was descending the stairs. With a jerk of his head, he ordered them all into the parlor. Ashley and Beau were already there, and they stood up when they saw the ladies enter with the doctor.

"I won't lie to you or soothe you," Dr. Meade began. "The damage she sustained looks pretty extensive. She may die within the next 24 hours. I'm sorry, Ashley, Miss Wilkes."

Ashley and India nodded stoically.

"If she pulls through, she could show a variety of symptoms. She might be weak or even paralyzed on one side. She may not be able to talk. She might have trouble swallowing. And she'll need help with her personal functions." At this the ladies blushed. "But whatever the case, she'll need to be taken care of around the clock. I'll have Miss James report for duty tomorrow morning. I expect to be here most of today and tonight."

At that moment, India's and Scarlett's eyes met. Then Scarlett put one gloved hand on India's elbow and pulled her aside.

"I don't like leaving Aunt Pittypat to be cared for by Miss James," Scarlett murmured. "Not that she's not a fine nurse, but she isn't family."

"I agree," answered India stiffly.

"We're her closest relatives. We should do it, India, you and I. We'll take care of her, at least part of the time. We can have Miss James for the times we can't be here."

"Do you mean it?" India asked incredulously. Then she tried to dissuade her. "After all, it sounds like a lot of work for you and you have the store to look after. And your house, of course." Even as Doctor Meade was describing Pittypat's condition to them, India had been making plans to write to Honey and compel her to come to Atlanta and help with the old woman. Of course, Honey had growing children by That Midwesterner (as India privately called her brother-in-law), and might not be able to come away quickly. And India would have to suffer a stranger in her house in the meantime. But now here was Scarlett standing before her with an even better suggestion. Practical India thought quickly--Miss James would have to be paid, but Scarlett wouldn't. On the other hand, the thought of being in constant contact with Scarlett Butler was repugnant.

"I don't need to be in the store all the time," Scarlett was saying. "Besides, she's my aunt through marriage. She sheltered me during the Reconstruction Years. I want to do this for her."

India continued to look dubious and when Scarlett saw how she was thinking rapidly for another excuse to throw at her she grew impatient.

"In the name of God, India, don't fight me now. We shouldn't be worried about ourselves. We should be thinking about what's best for Aunt Pittypat." And she held out her hand. "Agree for her sake."

India could not refuse an appeal to her sense of duty, no matter how distasteful that duty was. But it was with grave misgivings that she took her hand. "Very well, Scarlett. Let's tell Dr. Meade."

Dr. Meade was taken aback when Scarlett and India approached him with their idea. They hate each other! And now here they are, saying they want to work together? Preposterous! He thought. So he, too, tried to dissuade them. "Listen to me girls," (he seemed to have forgotten that India was 44, Scarlett 40) "this is not going to be a garden party. You two don't seem to realize just how much care she'll need. Constant turning, and cleaning and feeding if she lives that long. Not to mention..."

Scarlett interrupted him. "Don't you remember, Doctor, that I nursed the soldiers during the War? I know all there is to know about smells and gangrene and...worse. And India ran Twelve Oaks after Mrs. Wilkes passed over. She took care of her people when they were sick, isn't that right India? Between the two of us we have enough experience..."

Dr. Meade put his hand on Scarlett's shoulder and sighed heavily. "You force me to say it out loud. Not only does Miss Hamilton need competent care, she needs tender care. That means no fighting, no strife or discord in or near the sickroom." Then he fixed a stern eye on both women, which made them both feel like naughty little children, and they squirmed a bit in spite of themselves. "You two have not been models of decorous friendship over the years. And Miss Pittypat's bedside is no place to resume some ancient feud that doesn't matter anymore."

India managed to look contrite. "We won't, Doctor. We just want to help Aunt Pittypat. Isn't that right, Scarlett?"

"Yes, that's right. We just want to help Aunt Pitty."

And so it was with grave misgivings that Dr. Meade nodded. "Very well. You may be Miss Hamilton's nurses. But so help me if I hear even one story about even one raised voice by her beside--you will answer to me, and I will not be merciful to either of you..."

oOoOoOo

Ella overheard part of Mother's conversation with Aunt India--enough to know they were planning to take care of Aunt Pitty together--and turned away to hide her surprise. Imagine! Mother and Aunt India cooperating! Wonders never cease! But when she turned her head she happened to look across the room at Cousin Beau. And when she saw his somber expression, she made her way to his side.

Taking his arm, she touched her forehead gently to his shoulder. She whispered, "Beau..."

Beau looked down into her wistful face and put his arm loosely around her slim shoulders. "Don't worry, Ella. Dr. Meade is doing everything he can," he whispered back.

Ella's jaw dropped. "You have it all backward, Beau," she said a bit indignantly. "I'm comforting you!"

He smiled at her then, the first time he'd smiled all day. "Then I don't want to disappoint you. Comfort me all you like."

"Now you're just being silly. Oh--Mother and Aunt India are finished talking to the doctor." And with a little moue of apology, she left him to listen in on the older women's discussion.

India watched Ella approach, and although not a muscle of her face moved, she was thinking Dear Goodness, not again. Not another Wilkes man beguiled by an O'Hara girl. For she had seen the look on Beau's face as he put his arm around Ella, the way their bodies lightly touched as they stood close together. But there was one significant difference between Ella and Scarlett. Ella had no idea of the effect she was having on Beau. Scarlett had chased Ashley deliberately and with purpose.

"Mother, what is it?" Ella asked.

Scarlett turned to her. "Aunt India and I are figuring out how we're going to take care of Aunt Pittypat."

"Yourselves?" Ella exclaimed (pretending she hadn't been eavesdropping earlier). "What about Miss James?"

"We'll use her sometimes, but Aunt India and I want to keep this in the family."

"Well, then...me too, Mother. I want to help, too."

Scarlett shook her head slowly. "I don't want you exposed to the sickroom. You're just a little too young."

"Mother," Ella retorted scornfully, "You were my age when you nursed the soldiers. I'm not a baby--I'm 19! I have heaps of spare time ever since I stopped going to school, and I feel so useless. Besides, I know how to take care of the sick. Haven't I watched you and Dilcey? I want to help poor Aunt Pitty--she was always kind to me. Even after she started getting..." she lowered her voice to a whisper "...senile."

Then she put on a rare stubborn look that made Scarlett catch her breath. Sweet, tractable Ella looked unaccountably like Pa! Like Bonnie! Scarlett touched her cheek briefly.

"You may help us in the sickroom, since you insist. But I don't want you overtiring yourself."

"I'm not an invalid," Ella said in her loftiest voice. "And I won't get tired at all, you'll see. But thank you for letting me help."

oOoOoOo

At the Meades' residence, Mrs. Meade waited anxiously for word of her old friend, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief from time to time as Marybeth sat by her and tried to offer whatever comfort she could.

"I really shouldn't be surprised, of course," Mrs. Meade tried to be philosophical. "After all, she was 83 this year. But it's still such a shock when it comes."

"You mustn't talk that way, Mrs. Meade," Marybeth admonished her. "You make it sound as if she were dead."

"You don't understand. She's too old and frail--her body can't tolerate this. Even if she survives, she'll be an invalid the rest of her life."

Marybeth thought that was a horrible thing to say, but didn't have the chance to object as Mrs. Meade continued.

"I suppose I should get used to it. We're all getting up there in years. Mrs. Merriwether is 65, Mrs. Elsing is 60. I'm 61--we were all girls together. And Pittypat--well, she was older than us, but she was so childlike it seemed like she was one of us." Then she sighed. "A time to be born and a time to die, as the Good Book says."

Marybeth couldn't resist speaking up anymore. "That's really morbid."

Mrs. Meade shook her head. "You only think so because of your youth. But I'll let you in on a secret. I may have a 61-year-old body on the outside, but on the inside, I feel young like you. Old age doesn't make you stop wanting and wishing and dreaming for things. It just makes it physically harder to attain those dreams. To suffer senescence, senility--the inevitable road leading to the grave. When will the doctor send word," she added irritably. "He should know I'd be here worried sick."

oOoOoOo

But Pittypat Hamilton managed to pull through that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. She could no longer speak clearly--all she could say was "that-that-that"--and she could barely move her left side. Her nieces and nephews fell into a routine that revolved around her and her care was divided among them. India, Scarlett and Ella took turns washing and feeding. Ashley, Beau and Wade were called into service when the old lady needed to be moved into the chair to change her linens.

An unexpected consequence of Scarlett's and India's working side-by-side was a grudging respect that grew between them.

Scarlett was shocked to see how tender a nurse India was to her elderly cousin. She washed her gently, guarded her from drafts, turned her carefully to avoid giving the old lady bedsores. And when Dr. Meade deemed Pitty was recovered enough to eat without choking, India fed her soft things from a spoon, with one arm behind her shoulders to hold her up, and stroking her throat gently to remind her to swallow. Scarlett knew it was fatiguing work, but India never became impatient. Not even once.

On her part, India was shocked to see how dedicated a worker Scarlett was. She never shirked her part of the chores, never tried to push anything off on India that she could do on her own, she came early every morning and stayed longer than anybody expected her to. Despite Scarlett's denials to the contrary, India knew that she was tired from managing the store and her house and helping with Pitty. But she never complained. Not even once.

But even more unexpected for Scarlett was the result of her closer contact with Ashley Wilkes.

In her wild remorse following Melanie's death, when Scarlett fully realized the depth of both Melly's and Rhett's love and how she had distained both, her feelings for Ashley had turned to repugnance. He was her partner in crime, he was partly responsible for her having treated Rhett and Melanie the way she had. Not that she excused her own role in their affair, but she couldn't look at Ashley without remembering every sneaky, unfaithful thing she had ever done. As time went by, and she was unable to fix the breach between herself and Rhett, her repugnance towards Ashley paled to indifference and then faded almost to forgetfulness. Except for the occasional twinge.

But now Ashley was in her thoughts again, even if only as another pair of hands when the old lady needed lifting.

Then one day, India went out to do the marketing and Scarlett walked in on Ashley trying to give Pitty a drink of water. His attempt was clumsy and the water dribbled down her chin. Pitty's eyes flew to Scarlett's and the look in them was distraught.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ashley," Scarlett scolded as she flew around the room to grab a towel and snatch the cup away from him. "Don't drown poor Aunt Pittypat." He submitted to her meekly and sat back into the chair and watched her gently dry Pitty's chin and give her a drink. When Scarlett met his gaze, he smiled drowsily.

"You've worked so hard helping us with Aunt Pittypat. Thank you," Ashley said simply.

Scarlett nodded and put the cup on the bedside table, then hung the towel to dry. She sat down across the bed from Ashley, but he wasn't looking at her anymore.

How odd, she thought, that I should be sitting alone with Ashley. Alone and unsupervised. The last time she was alone with Ashley was the day of his surprise party. Only disaster and heartache had resulted from that.

She picked up her knitting needles that she'd left the last time she tended PItty and resumed her row. From under her eyelashes, she looked at Ashley. He was still not looking at her--he was looking at Aunt Pittypat.

He's aged, Scarlett thought. He is only a few years older than me, but he could pass as older than Rhett. Melanie's death aged him beyond all measure. And yet, he's still a handsome man. Beau looks like him--like a Wilkes. He doesn't favor the Hamiltons. Wade is a Hamilton through and through.

She looked down at her knitting. This is the first time since Melanie's funeral that I've had any sort of conversation with him that didn't concern the children. I did not do a good job of honoring Melanie's request, her dying request that I look after him. Her conscience gave her a painful twinge. But I meant to, she thought in anguish. I never meant to break my promise, I swear--but Mother of God, I did the best I could! The taint of scandal was still on both of us, despite Melanie's efforts to shield us. If I'd paid the kind of attention to Ashley that Melly would have wanted, the old cats would have been on me like a duck on a June bug. And how would that have helped either Ashley or Beau?

But that wasn't the real reason I avoided Ashley, Scarlett admitted to herself in shame. The real reason was I couldn't bear to look at him and be forced to remember my own guilt. If you weren't such a good person, Melly Wilkes, I would wonder if you didn't lay that responsibility on my shoulders just to punish me...

And yet--and yet Ashley did well, despite it all. The mills aren't nearly as profitable under his management as they were under mine, but he's managed to make a modest living from them. He sent Beau to college, he pays Dilcey's salary, he helps support Aunt Pittypat and India.

And, Scarlett admitted with wonderment, he did it all without convict labor. He returned them to the State as soon as the deed to the mills was in his name, and he hired Negroes and poor whites. And he got work out of them, beyond anybody's expectations.

Scarlett frowned as she stitched. In his mild-mannered way, Ashley managed his employees well. Like all other mill owners, he expected them to show up for work every day and put in a full twelve hours. But he paid them better than they could expect at other mills, and he took a personal interest in their lives. He made it his business to know each of them by name, and to ask after their families. If one of them became ill or injured, Ashley paid part of their medical bills. If one of their wives had a baby, he sent a gift to their house. And if his attitude towards them was rather paternalistic, a bit too squire-of-the-manor, his men weren't offended--his quiet demeanor and simple, unstylish clothing softened the effect.

My men worked for me because they were afraid of Gallegher. Ashley's men work for him because they like him.

She glanced at him again. But then, men have always liked Ashley, even when they didn't understand him. The County boys all thought he was too bookish, but they elected him captain of the Troop. The men of the Atlanta Old Guard stood staunchly by him even during the scandal with me. They don't understand him, but they like him. Of course, they don't know him the way I know him. Because of how well I know him, since Melly's death, I can barely stand to look at him. I can hardly look at this...this...

All of a sudden, she felt a strange sensation of vertigo and the room suddenly became brighter.

Scarlett felt a moment's panic--maybe she was having a fit of apoplexy herself--and her heart pounded. She stifled a gasp, but dropped her stitches and fumbled for them so nervously that Ashley peered over at her curiously, and she met his eyes before she looked away.

There is nothing wrong with the room--nothing wrong with my eyes. Why could I never see it? Why did I have to go all these long years before I could see the truth? He's neither a knight in shining armor nor a helpless, poor-spirited creature. Ashley is something else entirely, something I never recognized, something apart from both extremes. He is merely...a fallible human being.

"Scarlett? Are you quite well?" He asked, full of concern.

Scarlett looked across at him, stunned by this new revelation, and believed that for the first time in her life she was looking at him the way he really was. For now, at the age of forty, she looked at him, not through the infatuated eyes of the girl she once was, not through the devastated and disillusioned eyes of the woman she turned into after Melanie's death, but through unclouded eyes that could see him as he really and truly was.

And she realized he was merely a man.

She suddenly understood it all. He hadn't been a hypocrite all those years he talked about honor. He really and truly believed in it--so far as he understood it. He was weak enough to kiss her, but strong enough never to let their affair progress beyond those kisses. He burned for her, but he never left Melanie.

For the first time in her life, Scarlett looked at him and felt neither desire, nor repugnance, nor pity.

She looked at him and felt compassion. Compassion for a human being as flawed as she was. One who had high ideals, who struggled and strived for those ideals and yet failed and suffered for his failings. Yes, she knew how he suffered for his infidelity to Melanie.

He strove for honor the way she strove to be a great lady.

She didn't realize she was staring at him as she thought these things out until she realized he was looking at her with some alarm.

"Scarlett?"

Scarlett took a deep breath and smiled at Ashley reassuringly. "I just dropped my stitches." Then she resumed her knitting.

Yes, he was just a man, flawed, fallible.

And, she decided, not entirely unlikable.

A/N: Next Chapter, Rhett returns.

Just in case somebody objects to the ages I assigned to the Old Guard, only Pittypat's age was ever revealed and she was 60 when Scarlett first went to live in Atlanta. In the movie, Mrs. Meade had white hair, but on the other hand, Phil Meade was younger than Careen O'Hara, so I decided to put hers, Mrs. Merriwether' and Mrs. Elsing's ages to be in Ellen O'Hara's generation rather than Pittypat's. Dr. Meade conceivably could have been several years older than his wife, especially since he had to go through medical training then set himself up in a practice before he married. Of course, in fanfiction, a lot of things are open to interpretation…